


You're Only A Day Away

by writerllofllworlds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, References to Depression, References to self-harm, Tony doesn't die, i love him so much, peter is so good yall, references to past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerllofllworlds/pseuds/writerllofllworlds
Summary: Tomorrow would be better. That's what Uncle Ben used to say.Maybe if he says it enough, he'll believe it too.





	You're Only A Day Away

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this before I've posted my last chapter to When The Door Opens, then I'm sorry. This idea popped into my head inbetwixt writing that final chapter and I needed a detour anyway. It's coming, I promise!
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Also, go see Far From Home. It's good.

Peter Parker was no stranger to pain. As a superhero, it was something that he had to deal with usually on a daily basis. From mild bruises to bullet wounds, he could tell you on a scale of one to ten just where you didn’t want to get hit (one being: _really not all that bad_ and ten being: _kill me please, I beg you, it would hurt let than this_ ). The number of times he had broken his nose or skinned a knee while being Spiderman were uncountable. The scars that littered his body stood out against his paler skin, but Peter had long ago abandoned the idea that they were ugly.

Ever since he had seen a girl’s self-harm scars on her wrists and convinced her that they were battle wounds, he had been able to think the same about his own actual battle wounds – they weren’t disgusting. They were proof of bravery.

Peter Parker was also no stranger to scars that ran deeper – to sores and bruises that weren’t left on the skin. To bullet wounds made by words, by failure, by death. He knew the months ( _years_ ) of the ripple effects left by the loss of a loved one, the trauma endured after rape, the horrible feeling of looking at oneself in the mirror and wishing that the person staring back at them didn’t exist.

He knew what it was like to hate oneself. He knew what it was like to wake up from nightmares. He understood the breathlessness of a panic attack and the deep numbness of depression. He could describe in perfect detail what it was like to be triggered or have a flashback that ended with him in tears.

He could tell you exactly how many times he had to force himself out of bed in the morning and tell himself that tomorrow would be better.

His Uncle Ben had said a phrase to Peter when he was younger that had stuck with the boy. “Don’t worry, Peter,” he would say. “Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.” He said it all the time – whenever Peter messed up on a test or dropped ice-cream down his shirt. Sometimes it was amidst laughter and joy, other times when there was suffering and sadness. It was a way to remind the kid that happier times were coming.

Ben had never been one to stay in his sorrow. Maybe that was why Peter was such a goddamn ray of fucking sunshine (Tony’s words, not his).

When Peter had to force himself out of bed, he thought of that phrase and decided that his Uncle was right.

Tomorrow would be better.

He just didn’t know when “tomorrow” was coming.

May’s cooking did not improve. Peter thought that after coming back from the dead, something might have given a little. No, no, the lasagna was still burning in the oven and Peter was just praying the sprinklers didn’t go off while he was doing his history homework.

“Oh, well, third time’s the charm, right?” his aunt called, throwing the hand towel over her shoulder.

“You’re making another one?” he cringed, trying to ignore the way his headache was escalating at the horrible smell. “How many noodles did you buy?”

“Pepper gave me Tony’s recipe,” she replied, sticking out her tongue. “And I thought that I’d give it a go. I don’t understand how he can cook so well. I’d have thought that he just throws coffee in everything and calls it edible.”

Peter chuckled as he finished the last question. “Tony prefers hot tea, actually.”

“No way.” May snorted. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Her nephew nodded, sticking the papers into his backpack. “After the Blip was reversed, he took me to this tea shop near the Statue of Liberty and made me try like eight different teas. He says he has refined tastes.”

“Huh.” May shrugged. “Maybe they soothe him. Lord knows that man doesn’t get enough rest.”

Peter smiled fondly at the picture of the said man on his phone’s lock screen. “Yeah, well, we’ve gotten onto him about that. And ever since he lost his arm, well, he’s been much more susceptible to us lot coercing him into a movie night or playing board games. He’s such a dad.”

Something so incredibly soft wormed its way into his aunt’s voice as she murmured, “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

The seventeen-year-old crinkled his nose. “Are you really going to make another lasagna. Or, excuse me, destroy another lasagna?”

“Oh, ho ho, Mr. Smartypants,” she grinned, brandishing a spatula at him. “Don’t get sassy with me, young man. And maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if you came over here and helped me.”

Peter guffawed but stood and went to join her anyway. “We could just order Tai and save both of us the trouble.”

“Or we could embark on this exciting culinary journey together.” She bumped his shoulder.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment. “Unexpected journey, more like. No wonder Bilbo wanted to stay home.”

“Who is Bilbo?” May pursed her lips. “Is that another one of your nerd things that I don’t understand?”

He blinked in real disappointment. “ _The Hobbit_ , May, is a classic written by the great John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. And I will have you know that Bilbo Baggins is a respectable hobbit, thank you very much.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” his aunt replied through half-lidded eyes.

“I have failed you as a nephew.” He remarked, shaking his head again. “We’re having a marathon after we order that Tai.”

“We are not order-,”

Another puff of smoke flew from the oven as soon as she opened it to remove her crumbled attempt at Italian cuisine.

“Oh, shit!” May waved the smoke away with her hand towel, coughing up a storm as she tried not to laugh.

Peter, on the other hand, snorted so loudly and hard that he had to grasp the counter to keep from doubling over in laughter. He howled in delight, a long day of school and patrolling finally catching up with him in a bout of hysterics. “Bye, bye, lasagna.”

(He pronounced it luh-zag-na.)

“Oh, shush you,” she flicked his ear before scrambling to shut the oven again until the food decided it was done clouding their kitchen in smog that would have made the great red dragon jealous.

“Don’t worry, May,” he laughed lightly, bumping her elbow with his own. “Tomorrow will be better.”

Recognition flashed across her crinkled eyes and that deep look that always came around when they talked about Ben emerged in her gaze. “And don’t we Parkers know it.”

He grinned. “Tai?”

She chuckled. “Tai.”

Bucky was an interesting person for Peter to connect with, but when they met after resurrecting from the dead, they hit it off right away.

“Just because you choose a bike does not mean you’ll win against a car,” Peter explained. “It all depends on the stats, Bucky.”

“You’re just being smug because you won,” the Winter Soldier narrowed his eyes in fake anger.

“Yeah,” the teenager smirked. “The last seven rounds.”

“Geez, how many rounds are you idiots playing?” Tony asked as he passed by the couch, ruffling Peter’s hair as he went. “You want to get pizza for dinner, kiddo?”

“We are currently on our second round of sixteen races,” he answered dutifully, leaning into the hand on his scalp. “And yes please.”

Tony nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to the kid’s hairline before rolling his eyes fondly. Peter was still surprised by how affectionate his father-figure had become. He supposed watching your child die in front of your eyes did that to you. “You have way too much free time.”

He pulled out his phone and walked away; Peter heard him ordering a large cheese just as he rounded the corner.

“You’re good for him, you know.” Bucky chortled. “Coming from someone who’s been on the receiving end of his repulsors, it’s really weird to see him so… parental.”

The kid smiled gently as he looked back at the TV screen, scrolling through the tracks before picking Rainbow Road. “Yeah, well, coming from someone who’s lost both of his other father figures, I’m trying not to let myself get too attached. Contingencies and all.”

Bucky scuffed the back of his head. “Do you always make orphan jokes or is it just when you’re around me?”

He snorted. “Stop trying to distract me.”

“Yeah,” the super soldier rolled his eyes but focused back on the game. “I’d definitely choose the topic of your horrible orphan jokes to help me kick your ass.”

“You can dream, Snowball.” He smirked.

“Do not start calling me that.” Bucky groaned. “Your dad has already got Rhodey doing it. Not you too, Pete. I thought we were friends.”

Spiderman raised a brow as the familiar beeping countdown began and pressed ‘A’ just before the number flashed to one. “You challenged me to a Mario Cart battle, dear Sergeant. Until the end of race sixteen, we are arch enemies.”

Race sixteen heralded Peter as supreme champion (only because Pepper was in SI meetings until seven o clock) and Bucky huffed, throwing his controller onto the couch next to him as the teenager threw his hands in the air and whooped triumphantly. “And the battle goes to me.”

The super soldier rolled his eyes. “I still think it’s rigged.”

“Yeah, life’s like that.” Peter grinned cheekily, dodging when his friend tried to swat at his shoulder.

“How do you do that?” Bucky asked, a strange emotion glinting in his eyes.

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Um, I’ve been playing Mario Cart for years and-,”

“No, not that.” He shook his head and gestured to the young hero’s face. “ _That_.”

“What?” He was definitely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“How are you so…happy?”

The question hit Peter right in the chest and his breath caught. How was he so happy? He suspected that part of it was just who he was as a person, but part of it definitely had to do with his childhood. Even though he didn’t know his parents for long, he knew that they loved him. Ben and May had raised him to choose to be happy, even in dark times, because sometimes all you could do was smile and hope for a better tomorrow.

“I mean, you’re an orphan. Your uncle’s dead. You have been through so much shit, kid. You did, too, which is nuts. You came back, fought an army of aliens, and thought that your new father figure had died. I mean, you’ve lost a lot, Peter. How do you – I mean…”

Peter swallowed. “I think that you just have to choose to be happy. At least, I think that’s how it works for me. I think that, after all I’ve lost, it's just a reminder that life is short but it's so full of so much goodness. Yeah, they’re moments when I need to cry and scream and have a hellish day, but there is always something good. I’m loved by so many people, I’m a superhero, I’m starting my senior year of high school in a few months. I mean, come on.”

Bucky was looking at him strangely.

“I think that people spend too much time thinking about all the things they’ve lost that they lose sight of what they have,” Peter whispered. “I think – I think that after what we’ve gone through, we have to choose to be better than our demons and decide that life doesn’t have to be filled with shadows. We just have to turn and look towards the sun instead of behind us.”

The super soldier let out a ragged breath. Peter didn’t say anything about the tear he discreetly wiped away.

“Don’t worry, Bucky,” Peter breathed, wrapping his arms around the soldier’s middle. “Tomorrow will be better.”

Bucky laid his head on Peter’s and sighed heavily.

“Kid, the pizza’s here if you want to- oh.”

Peter chuckled, pulling away from the Winter Soldier to throw a playful look at Tony. “Great interruption. I was just getting him to open up!”

“You’ll have to tell us all his secrets over dinner.” Iron Man chuckled. “Come on, you two. The others are waiting.”

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” Peter waved him off. Turning back to Bucky, he smiled gently and whispered, “Even darkness must pass, Buck. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.”

The quote was familiar to the hero, and he swallowed, pulling Peter back in for a quick hug. “Come on, kid. Won’t do to keep your dad waiting.”

Tony and nightmares were old friends. It wasn’t odd for Peter to join him in his bed whenever Pepper was away on business trips. Next to his wife, the kid was the best person to calm him down after his nocturnal terrors and it helped that the boy was cuddly as fuck.

Peter was fixing a small scrape in his suit when F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted him that Tony’s heart rate had escalated into dangerous territory after he had awoken suddenly. The seventeen-year-old had been down in their lab after getting his dad to go to bed (geez, Tony, you’ve slept all of seven hours in the last three days, please rest), but apparently, the universe just didn’t know when to give Tony Stark a break.

Man, was _that_ true.

“Peter, I would suggest you go attend to Boss. He seems to have woken up from a nightmare and is calling for you.”

“Will do,” He answered immediately and stood to do just that. “Thanks, F.R.I.”

“Of course, Peter.”

Tony and Peter’s lab was four floors below the living quarters, and the elevator was too slow for the kid’s liking. As soon as the doors opened, he sprinted towards Tony’s bedroom. When F.R.I.D.A.Y. said calling, she didn’t say it right, because he was definitely sobbing/wailing Peter’s name. He was silently grateful that the other Avengers would out for missions; Tony hated seeming weak in front of them.

The door opened automatically, and he jumped into action.

Tony was shaking furiously as he slammed his fist into the headboard of his bed. The prosthetic arm hung at his side lifelessly. He sobbed loudly, bawling and cursing up a storm as blood coated his busted knuckles. “Peter! Peter, baby, don’t leave me! I’m right here, no, no, no!"

“Tony?” the said kid ran towards his hero, climbing onto the massive bed to grab the man’s bloody hand. “Stop! Stop, Tony! I'm not leaving. I'm right here, too, okay? You had a nightmare. Everything's alright.”

The man continued to sob, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“I’m right here, Dad, hey, look up.” Peter crawled closer. “I’m right here. That’s all over, Dad.”

“Peter, my sweet boy,” Tony choked, crumbling into the kid’s chest. Immediately, arms wrapped around him to hold him steady. “You’re dead. You died.”

“I’m not dead, Dad,” Peter whispered reassuringly, running his hands through Tony’s hair like he always did to Peter. “You saved me, remember?”

“No.” Tony shook his head against Peter’s shirt. “No, you’re gone. I wasn’t good enough.”

It was so strange seeing the brave Tony Stark, hero and billionaire, so broken.

But Peter wasn’t afraid of Tony Stark’s demons. He had never been.

“You were better,” Peter hushed. “You were better than enough, Tony. You saved the world.”

(You did it, Mister Stark. We won. We won, Mister Stark. We won.)

Peter pushed his own bad dreams back into the recesses of his mind and swallowed. “You saved the world, remember? Used the Infinity Gauntlet and everything. You lost an arm in the process, but hey, you always say that it’s a small price to pay for becoming Jesus.”

(I’m sorry… Tony?)

“Didn’t care about the world.” Iron Man croaked bitterly. “Just wanted you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here too.” The kid chuckled weakly, laying his cheek on Tony’s head. “And I’m not leaving, Tony. Never again, okay?”

“’M not Tony.” Tony snapped softly.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter’s lips edged upwards. “ _Dad_. You with me?”

“Yeah.” Tony sat up, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry about that, Peteypie.”

“Don’t be.” The young hero wrapped his arms around his father. “After what you’ve done for me, the least I can do is help with the nightmares. After all, I’m an old hat at this, remember?”

That didn’t seem to help matters. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe not, but you’re stuck with me”

Tony met his eyes. They were glistening with tears. “Yeah, kid. Forever, if I get my way.”

Forever was a long time, but Peter wouldn’t mind spending it with Tony.

Eventually, Tony’s breaths evened out and he fell back to sleep curled up at Peter’s side. The stars had just started to lose their luster with the oncoming dawn when Peter felt inclined to join him. He told F.R.I.D.A.Y. not to wake them up for a while after her usual time and lay down next to his father, cuddling into his chest. Tony instinctively wrapped an arm around his son.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Peter whispered into the silence. “Tomorrow will be better.”

The sun rose.

It had been three years since Ben died. One thousand and ninety-five days since the day, and almost exactly to the hour. It wasn’t uncommon for Peter to be awake on the anniversary, and it was even less uncommon for him to be awake because of nightmares. Blood ran through his palms and down his fingertips; he could feel it. He could hear his own distant scream and begging over the loud boom of the gunshot. He could see the exact second that life left his uncle’s body.

His tired and bloodshot eyes wandered over to the picture on the desk. His gut twisted and more tears rolled down his cheeks.

“God, Ben, I _miss_ you.”

_Don’t worry, Peter. Tomorrow will be better_.

“I don’t know, anymore, Ben,” he sobbed, running a weary hand over his face. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

He thought of May’s hugs, of Ned’s handshake. He thought of MJ’s kisses. He thought of Tony’s laugh.

Peter Parker understood pain. He knew how to stitch himself up with a sewing needle. He knew just the right about of alcohol to use on an open wound. He knew which pair of tweezers to snatch from May’s bathroom depending on how big the bullet was. He knew that his razor could be used for cutting other things than just his hair. He knew that some people jumped and sometimes he wanted to jump too. He knew that Skip hadn’t touched him in years and yet sometimes he could still feel the ghost of his grip in the darkness of his room.

But you know what else Peter Parker knew?

He knew that Mr. Delmar hated cats, but Murph had grown on him. He knew that the boy living four doors down from them and his boyfriend were scheduled for another date on Tuesday (their fifth one) and that they were going to the movies to see the new Wonder Woman movie. He knew that, in some apartment in Brooklyn, a girl was just coming home from her therapy session and was just about to start helping her father with dinner. He knew that, in the floor below him, little Georgie was hugging his new mother and father so tightly they could hardly breathe as the adoption papers fell to the floor around them.

He knew that May’s favorite color was green because that had been the color of Ben’s eyes. He knew that Ned preferred watching Star Trek but always chose to watch Star Wars when Peter was over, just because he was that good of a friend. He knew that MJ chose to wear her broken Black Dahlia necklace every single day, no matter if it matched her outfit or not, just because it made her smile. He knew that Steve Rogers liked to go running in Central Park at precisely five- twenty-three in the morning, because the stray hounds were out then, and that he never failed to bring dog treats. He knew that Natasha Romanoff’s gravestone was a slightly bluish-grey color and that Clint sent flowers once a week, always red roses, and that he stopped by ever two and sat there for several hours in silence, just to be with her for a little while. He knew that Bruce was incredibly good at Monopoly and Clue but was always the first one out when they played Risk. He knew that Pepper could school everyone when it came to Mario Cart (not even Bucky and Sam could match her), and she always chose to play with Peter’s lucky controller. He knew that Bucky was a giant Lord of the Rings fan and his favorite character was Samwise Gamgee. He knew that Sam teased Bucky about this fact relentlessly, but he also knew that if Bucky asked, the Falcon would never turn down a request to join him in a marathon. He knew that Morgan Stark was smarter than he would ever be and that she preferred red lollipops to purple ones, simply on the fact that her two favorite superheroes sported the warm color.

He knew that Tony Stark was, without a doubt, the greatest person that he had ever had the great fortune of meeting, of knowing, of loving. He knew that Tony Stark put three sugars in his coffee and no cream, and while he consumed so much of the drink, he actually preferred tea. He knew each of his father’s different cries, knew the changes in his breathing, knew the different looks and exactly how terrified he should be based on eyebrow raise alone. He knew that Peter was Tony’s kid (his son, his _baby_ ) better than he knew his own name.

Peter knew that he was loved, by so many and so much.

He understood loss, but he also understood life. He understood hurt, but he also understood happiness. He had died, but Peter knew that death could not conquer love. Nothing could.

He knew that the darkness of night gave way to a bright morning and that even in the middle of a thunderstorm, one can see a rainbow.

His eyes lifted back to the framed picture of his Uncle Ben. Smiling, happy, with motor oil on his nose and a laughing nephew on his hip. He stood and walked over to the desk, fingers tracing the outline of Ben’s face.

His vision slanted only just, and Tony’s fond eyes stared back at him. It was a photo that Pepper had stolen while Peter was rambling on about something and the hero was looking at him like he was his entire world.

He smiled softly. “Don’t worry, Peter.”

A star twinkled outside his window.

“Tomorrow will be better.”

And tomorrow _was_.


End file.
